Clocks and Hearts
by shortcircuitify
Summary: She is a clingy little thing, but he doesn't mind all that much. A series of drabbles/one shots about the Red Queen and the man of many clocks, updated sporadically.
1. Chapter 1

He soon realizes she is a clingy little thing. She clings to his waist when they walk around his vast castle and she clings to his arm when they are visiting Marmoreal's court and there are woman eyeing him from across the room because he is ethereal and vast and she is just _her_. She clings to his robes when she tells him about her day and clings to his neck when she kisses him. Clings to his side in the night when her nightmares are the worst and the only sound escaping her lips is his name.

She even clings to him when she is angry at him – at his unsure words and unsurer gestures (he has never had anyone want his attention so much, and he can't find what to do with himself to make her happy most days) - clings to his chest, drowning in the fabric of his robes.

He is Time – made of the sun and stars and distant and lonely. Living in his faraway castle with his only friends the ones he has crafted with his own hands. He knows of order and bounds and doesn't understand the silliness of the finite – attachment only leads to disappointment, he has seen it happen over and over and over again, and why would you subject yourself to that torture? It is all very silly.

But then she is grabbing at him with her clingy little hands (has she ever heard of personal space?) and watery eyes because _no Time, I cannot go in that hideous pink dress – do you want me to look ugly?_ And he really doesn't but he can't seem to get the words out that her grip is suffocating him – swallowing him whole, engulfing the walls that have entrapped him. The little fortress where he has kept himself safe from those silly little feelings that come from her reaching for him like he is something important. And he can't say _no_ to her – couldn't if he tried, because he knows she would break down in tears and rip his heart in half – and he doesn't, in all honesty, want her to stop.

There is no space between them whenever she is around – the universe collapsing in on them - and she might cling to his heart a tiny little (very big) bit, and her body is warm and there is not much to complain about, anyway.

 **A/N:** _I personally like to imagine Iracebeth with a normal sized head, but that isn't canon so I won't be putting personal preferences in this. But anyway, here it is!_


	2. Chapter 2

"Isn't it just _amazing_?" Iracebeth squealed, and it was more a statement than anything else. She held the dress robes up to his body, watching how the silk fell over his form effortlessly, drinking in the delicate seam work and the vibrant colors of it all. Her eyes were wide and excited, and Time had to hold back the groan that was vibrating in his throat.

She forced him to take the garment in his hands, skipping over to her vanity where she began applying makeup to her face. He watched her for a moment, stock still, the fabric bunched up in his fists, uncertain of what to do.

Spotting him in her mirror looking spooked and a little queasy, she turned, a scowl on her face as she regarded him, "Well? Stop wasting yourself, we're going to be late! And not even the fashionable-kind."

"Erm," he looked at the bright fabric in his hands again, and then to his dresser where five, immaculately clean and cut dress robes were hung. _His_ dress robes – the ones he wore regularly, cycling through each one (including the sixth identical one he currently wore) on a basis where not one was more worn than the other. He sighed longingly – he would do anything to change into the third one (he was wearing the second one currently), but it seemed that unpredictability had won this day, and he would be wearing the turquoise-cyan-royal combination currently in his too-tight grasp.

He turned back to his sweet heart, who had an expectant smile on her face, her fists balled up under her chin in anticipation, "Oh, please _please_ put it on! It goes so well with your eyes – makes them just pop, it does!"

He hesitated a moment longer before huffing in defeat, retreating to the bathing chambers to finish changing. The material itched his skin and he swore he looked like a giant balloon, but he was not the fashionable of the two and maybe this was Underland's latest fashion trend? He would not be surprised after meeting the hatter who wanted to turn his own regal hat into some kind of beside table.

He scratched the itch that was currently irritating his collar, grumbling as he made his way back into the bedroom. Iracebeth had finished with her makeup and her eyes lit up like the stars the moment she saw him. She gasped, as if in awe for a moment, and then she was on him, smoothing imaginary creases and adjusting hems and making sure everything was perfect.

" _See_? It looks magnificent – _you_ look magnificent. Do you know-" she finally looked up into his face to see his no-doubt prominent scowl, accentuated by his eyebrows. She stopped her mumbling and simply gazed at him a moment, before her smile was back in place and she was talking about colors and sparkles and all other things glittery.

He could see the fakeness of it, the way it didn't reach her eyes, and he hoped he didn't cause it. He cupped her cheek in his hand, and she immediately stopped her chattering and flitting around. It still amazed him – the affect he had on this mercurial creature. She nuzzled into his hand, and her anxiety dissipated – if only for the moment.

She took his hand in hers, leading him out of the room, "Let's go then. I don't fancy wasting any more of you than necessary." At that, he smiled.

…

 **/**

Marmoreal's court in the summer was beautiful, and Time had never seen such a diverse group of individuals in his span – not even from what he had seen in his faraway kingdom under the galaxies. Iracebeth clung to his arm as they made the rounds through the court, dancing occasionally (on Iracebeth's request, and he tried as hard as he could to be the sophisticated partner she no-doubt wanted), and eventually they sat near the edge of the court at a table that was not far off from Tarrant, who was doing something or other with a card and an empty tea pot.

Iracebeth fidgeted in her seat, a nervous ball of energy, and once he caught her eye she bit her lip, blinking coyly up at him, "You're outfit was quite smashing tonight. Even _Ringworth_ complimented you – and she hasn't even complimented Mirana before, the _Queen_ ," she whispered conspiratorially, excited and expectant.

He scratched at the spot on his collar out of habit, although it stopped irritating him partway through the night. He wasn't sure if it was because he had gotten used to the irksome spot, or because it had magically just stopped itching.

"It makes your eyes just –" she stopped, trying to think of the most fitting word, her cheeks flushing, "They look perfect."

His own cheeks became heated, and Iracebeth turned away quickly, "'Course, I wouldn't be seen with anyone or anything _less_ than perfect, so I guess it all worked out, didn't it?" It was another one of her statement-questions.

He turned her face back to him, his finger tilting her jaw until she was looking up at him (she was a short little thing), "Sweet, I-"

"Ah, I always knew I'd find the Time!" Mirana's sweet voice carried over to them, and she plopped herself down beside her now sulking sister, "I'm _so_ happy you two came today. Wasn't it lovely?" her voice was soft like a fluffy cloud, and Iracebeth mumbled about how there should have been more red.

Time recognized that brooding look anywhere and quickly took Iracebeth's hand in his own, winking at her, and she hesitantly turned to her sister, smiling cautiously. Mirana's face lit up.

Her eyes flickered over briefly to him, and then down to the peacock-suit he was wearing, "Oh!" And then back to Iracebeth, "I'm so happy you gave him that suit you've been working so hard on. Do you know she's spent _days_ holed up just making sure the blue matche –"

Mirana's speech was cut short by Iracebeth slamming her palm over her sister's mouth – her face was a bright red and her eyes looked like they were about to burst out of her head, "You weren't supposed to _tell_ him," she harshly fake-whispered. Time couldn't understand why she would attempt to anyway – he could hear her perfectly – but his mind wasn't really functioning and for the first Time in a long Time, he was frozen.

He was surprised to see the dancers weren't trapped in their twirls and jumps and were still moving around with ease because he was certain the universe froze still for a moment. He felt an embarrassed flush come over his neck and face at the thought.

"And why not?" Mirana's voice wavered over to him, "You've worked so hard on it and I'm sure he would be delighted to know. It looks quite smashing as well, should I add," she nodded her head triumphantly and turned to Time, eyes sparkling, "Now I'll leave you both to it. I will see you for tea tomorrow, Sissy. Don't be late," she winked at Time and then was whirling off into the crowd once more.

Iracebeth avoided his gaze but he tilted his head down anyway, trying to catch her eye, "Why didn't you tell me you made this for me?" He asked, incredulous.

She had _made_ this. With her own hands. Had spent hours of him to make this… for _him._

Her lips drew together in a pout, and she dropped her chin in her hands, elbows resting on the table dramatically, "Because you don't like it and I _know_ you don't like it so I didn't want to be embarrassed about it."

"I _love_ it," his voice came out in a huff, part incredulous and part laughter. He took one of her hands in his own, "It is beautiful."

"No it's not," she scowled.

"Yes it is! Because you made it," he kissed her knuckles and she eyed him wearily.

"Don't lie to me, please," her voice was tight.

"Why would I lie to you?" He was genuinely confused. Had he said something wrong?

She stared at him and he felt the itchiness in his collar return, but he ignored it. He would wear this suit whenever he got the chance. Why was he so hesitant before? After a moment Iracebeth's body relaxed a smidge, and again she was looking at him with those eyes he couldn't quite read yet. But he would learn soon – they had plenty of Time.

"You're just saying that because you love me or whatever," she sulked, but her voice was softer and lighter, and he could see the resemblance the two sisters had to each other.

"Yes? And?" Now it was his turn to look at her with expecting eyes. She stared at him a moment, as if judging his worth, and then a wane smile graced her lips.

She laced her fingers through his.

 **A/N:** _Thank you for the favorites, the follow, and for the reviews Convenient Alias, BryannaB709, and spacetea!_


	3. Chapter 3

Iracebeth was an array of not-so-good things, this she knew. She knew she was a murderer and ex-tyrant, and others were not afraid to call her a variety of colorful names for 'murderer' and 'tyrant'.

However, she would have never, _ever_ , thought she would stoop so low as to become a petty _thief._ A thief! She had berated herself repeatedly for her unimaginative new hobby.

It was embarrassing, really, to go from malevolent dictator to stealing socks and bits and pieces. But she couldn't make herself _stop_.

It had started out innocently enough. Time's Palace was almost unbearably _cold_ and it had been unbearable to her feet, so she had simply borrowed a pair of thick, woolen socks to wear while she was there. Which she had (of course) promptly forgotten about, taking the pair with her back to her own home.

She had vowed to return them the next time she visited – which she didn't. But Time's home was still so cold – no doubt because he was so warm, he did not feel the hypothermia clawing at her fingers – so she, naturally, borrowed another pair of socks. And _perhaps_ she also borrowed one of his more casual sweaters, making her swim in the soft fabric when she put it on.

She _swore_ she forgot to return them when she left.

"How could you forget? You were tripping over yourself in my sweater," Time asked, a suspicious eyebrow raised.

She shrugged, and an embarrassed blush had the decency to color her cheeks, "It was just so comfy?"

Time huffed, "Alright, just remember to return it when you come back next. It is my favorite," he kissed her sweetly on the cheek.

She didn't return it.

(It was also her favorite.)

Next were the little cogs and contraptions Time liked to work on when he had some spare of him. Was it really her fault? He just left such lovely little baubles around, it was as if he was asking for her to steal – erm, borrow – them.

Luckily, he did not seem to notice the culprit this time around, and she was allowed to decorate her house with his trifles and trinkets as she saw fit. Soon, every room had a cog or gear stuck in a corner or on the wall.

Time, finally, had decided it must have been poor Wilkins behind the 'attacks on his person and creative interests', and he got the brunt of Time's wrath for a period of himself Iracebeth knew he usually wouldn't waste.

She _should_ have felt bad. But how could she, really? Even when she was away from him she had a piece of Time with her to spare, and it was not as if Wilkins did not usually get yelled at anyway.

(…Poor Wilkins.)

However, Iracebeth _knew_ that she would be flayed once she stole – yes, _stole_ this Time – one of his all-favorite tunics. The six he wore on rotation, like clockwork.

She had woken up bleary-eyed and tired (it wasn't that she hadn't had enough Time to sleep, but, well, that was another story) and had stumbled her way out of Time's bed, only to feel the cool chilly air hit her skin in a most unpleasant way. Gooseflesh broke over her skin, and she immediately missed the warmth of his arms and his body.

He must have been part fireplace; with all those parts he was made of she wouldn't be surprised.

But she persisted onwards, needing her morning tea if she was even going to be a little bit pleasant. She glared at the dress she wore last night, hanging limply over a chair. Why did she always dress so impractically?

And then she spotted it, out of the corner of her eye. Time's immaculate, perfect, pressed tunic thrown haphazardly on the ground. It looked so _comfy._ And warm. Before her sleeping companion could wake up, she had slid the thing - which hung down to her mid-thigh - over her head and was heading to the small kitchen tucked away in Time's massive castle.

Exactly twenty-five minutes later, she returned to the bedroom, hoping beyond all hope that perhaps Time was still asleep. Alas, he worked like clockwork because he was part clockwork, and she had no hope.

She was doomed. Trapped. He had already made a mess of the room looking no doubt for the tunic draped over her body. She was a goner. His eyes were on fire and they had one target in mind, a target that he would not allow anyone or anything to get between.

He had not spotted her yet. She had a moment to escape, but alas, all she could do was cower and hope to Crims that she had suddenly gone invisible.

She was scary yes, but Time was _Time_. He could literally stop her clock if he saw fit. Oh, bother. At least the socks were nice.

She shut her eyes tight, hearing a surprised grunt escape her lover's lips. He had found her, or, found his tunic. The impact that was bound to happen with him colliding with the perpetrator who dare steal from him, however, never came. All was silent for a moment.

She opened her eyes hesitantly, and was pleasantly surprised to see Time stuck in the middle of the room, jaw slightly slack, his eyes swimming with what could only be a mix between pleasant surprised and admiration. He shut his mouth audibly and Iracebeth blushed.

"Oh, well –"

"I'm sorry but I'm not. This is much too comfy and it smells like you, too," she blurted out before he could continue, "I think I'll steal it forever. Or if you want it back I'll just take it again when I'm over next. I just wanted to let you know."

Time, surprised again, smiled at her, wide and bright, "It suites you quite well, I think. Magnificent," he stared at her a moment longer, then, "Now give it back. I have to do my rounds over the Chronosphere."

Kleptomania suited her quite well. She had the affinity for it, after all.

 **A/N:** _Thank you for the favorites and follows, and for the reviews TitaHightopp05, BatmanSwiss, Guest, Stardust Imaginings, Margaret De Vil (x2!), and Theoria Synolon. I am very happy you all like this so far!_


	4. Chapter 4

Her hand traced idly over the clock in his chest, watching the constant and rhythmic ticking of the hands.

"This is your heart, then?" She asked, looking up into his eyes.

His hand combed through her thick locks, and his eyes darted away from hers nervously.

"I suppose?"

"So… you don't really have a _heart,"_ her brows furrowed in concentration.

An uncomfortable humming noise began in the back of his throat and he tensed up a touch, "Erm, not in the _conventional_ sense of the word, I suppose I don't. Is that… an issue?"

She bit her lip, her smile threatening to turn into a fit of giggles that was sure to make Time more uncomfortable than he already was. She wrapped her hands around his waist, hugging him too tightly and squeezing him, a strangled wheeze telling her that she was probably on her way to suffocating him. She couldn't help it. He was just so adorable.

"No, no issue. Just… ironic." It really was. She would have to tell Mirana.

 **A/N:** _Thank you for the favs and follows, and the reviews Domitia Ivory, Guest, easilyaddictedgirl, BryannaB709 (x2!), BatmanSwiss, Margaret De Vil, whiteroses1994, Spades and Swords, Theoria Synolon, melly7173, and guest! Hope you all like this short, in-between chapter :)_


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